


These Dying Embers

by Robottko



Series: Ghastly Grim [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dragonlock, M/M, Master/Slave, Slave abuse, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:17:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robottko/pseuds/Robottko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragons had won the war and humanity was enslaved, given as pets and servants to young dragon children. Sherlock had never wanted a pet of his own, and each one given to him was immediately discarded. Of course, when given the choice, Sherlock chooses the most dangerous pet of all: a certain captain by the name of John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Day #12: Dragon/Reptile Boy

No one was entirely sure why dragons kept humans around after they won the war. Human’s, though edible, were not a dragon’s ideal choice in meat. Humans were slower than dragons, and hardly strong enough to be a means of free labour, even though that’s what they were normally used for. Each dragon was given a human as a slave at a young age. Most dragons kept the same slave over the course of the human’s lifetimes; the more slaves they employed, the more prosperous they were. Though dragons lived longer than humans, a majority of them didn’t go through more than three or four main slaves. Sherlock Holmes was not one of those dragons.

He had received his first human at the age of ten years old. The slave, a human named Greg, was promptly declared a complete bore, then given to his elder brother, Mycroft. Mycroft already had a slave, of course. A pretty girl that Mycroft had named Anthea had been serving him for seven years already, and Mycroft had stated on several occasions that Anthea could do the work of twenty slaves, and that he would never need a second one. Sherlock could tell Anthea was pleased when Greg came to work for Mycroft, however, though she never would have admitted it.

Sherlock’s second slave, gifted to him at the age of thirteen, served him for about two weeks before he grew bored of him. Victor followed Sherlock around incessantly even when he had demanded that the human should leave him alone. The breaking point had been when Victor hid in his master’s room to see his human form. Sherlock had gotten so angry that he nearly scorched the terrified boy. Not that it was uncommon for slaves to see the human form of dragons, as both Anthea and Greg had seen his as well as Mycroft’s, but Sherlock didn’t trust this human to view his yet.

Several more slaves came and went, not a single one to Sherlock’s liking. Most were deemed too stupid for the genius, others too disagreeable. It was on Sherlock’s twenty-first birthday that the Holmes family decided that Sherlock should pick out a slave for himself.

 

\--

 

“Really, Mycroft?” Sherlock scoffed, his red tail swinging in agitation. “If you’re forcing me to choose a slave, why can’t I be in my dragon form?”

“You don’t want to terrify the poor humans the first day, do you?” Mycroft drawled, not bothering to look at Sherlock’s smirking face. Clearly that was _exactly_ what Sherlock wanted to do. It had been difficult enough to get Sherlock into half-dragon form, proud as he was of his sharp claws, red horns, and powerful tail.  Sherlock’s ultimate test would be which human was the least scared of him.

“Let’s go, then.” Sherlock huffed. “I don’t want to be here all day.”

The dragons strolled along the corridors, glancing through each door they passed. Most of the humans drew away in fear, causing Sherlock to scoff in disgust. It wasn’t until they had reached the last corridor that they found anyone remotely interesting.

“A ward for dangerous humans?” Sherlock rolled his eyes at the markings above the door to the corridor. “How on earth could _humans_ be dangerous?”

“A caged animal, no matter how small, can be very dangerous.” Mycroft replied sombrely. “Do not take them lightly.”

Sherlock snorted, a wisp of smoke curling from his nose dramatically. “I do believe I’ll be fine. I’ve had plenty of dragons angry at me, and never have I come to harm.” He said, pushing open the doors and walking inside, his brother trailing after him.

The humans in the dangerous ward were far less skittish than the rest of the facility. Even though the dangerous humans didn’t show fear, they still reeked of it, causing Sherlock’s nose to wrinkle in disgust. Just when he was about to give up, he saw the perfect specimen. The human didn’t appear to be much at first glance. He was short and understated, blending into his surroundings as though camouflaged, even his blond hair fading into the drab walls. Upon second inspection, Sherlock realised that he was a former soldier in the human-dragon war, the way he held himself suggested that a dragon had wounded his shoulder, most likely a bite wound. Sherlock stopped in front of the cage, peering down at the odd little human, and the human did the most extraordinary thing: he stared back.

Sherlock’s eyes widened when the dark blue gaze met his, looking distinctly unimpressed. Sherlock gave a little growl, and while he could see the humans in the nearby cages flinch, the soldier didn’t move a muscle, just crossed his arms, his gaze asking _‘is that the best you can do?’_

“This one.” Sherlock said aloud, continuing to stare at the human whose brow was now furrowing in confusion. “I want this one.”

“That one?” A handler asked, looking at Sherlock if he was insane. Perhaps he was. “That’s Captain John Watson.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?” Sherlock asked, causing a grunt of indignation to come from the little human.

“Fascinating.” Mycroft said, walking closer. “If you paid any attention to current events, you would realise that Captain John Watson was a lead instigator in the war. Why isn’t he in a higher security prison?”

“He used to be.” The handler sighed. “Escaped. We’re the only facility that has any capabilities of holding him. He’s not for sale.”

“But I want him.” Sherlock repeated, crossing his arms over his chest.

“He’s a terrorist.” Mycroft said. “The most dangerous human in the country, quite possibly the world.”

“He’s perfect.” Sherlock grinned, turning back to the human who was currently watching the scene with bafflement. “I could use an assistant, John. What do you say?”

“Piss off.” John replied, his voice rough from disuse. Sherlock’s grin brightened, and he turned back to the handler, his blood red tail curling happily at the thought of John as his slave.

“Where do I sign?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wanted a fic where the humans were the slaves instead of the dragons, so here you are! (Hmm, seriously debating on continuing this one. What do you think? Yea or nay?)
> 
> EDIT 10/14: Bless you all so much. I had such a terrible weekend, and I lacked internet, so I was totally convinced that everyone hated this story. Your comments turned my entire weekend around, and I thank you so much. This story WILL be continued. I'm plotting out the story right now (as I write my next ficlet.)  
> Seriously, I don't know how I got the best readers on this site, but I got 'em!


	2. Chapter 2

Most dragons hadn’t looked twice at John, and those that did became disinterested as soon as they heard his name. Needless to say, the human was extremely confused. It was more than obvious that his new ‘master’ was wealthy and could afford any human that he wanted. Why on earth would he want _him_?

“Come along, John.” The curly-haired dragon said smugly, his eyes glittering as the chains that bound John’s wrists were unlocked from the shackles. John looked around, trying to figure out the best escape out of the prison when he caught sight of the brother of his new master. A hard look from the elder dragon stopped him in his track, and John knew that any resistance on his part would end horribly.

“I do believe we’ll need precaution on this one.” The elder dragon said to the handler, “Fit him with one of those temporary collars. I’ll send it back when we get a proper one on him.”

Before John could even blink, the handler was snapping a metal collar around his neck. He let out a small growl at the handler, who promptly took a step back.

“Obviously the collar is too tight.” His curly-haired master said, red tail whipping back and forth. “Couldn’t you loosen it?”

“No.” The handler sighed. “He’s much too crafty with the collars. This one will not only shock him if he’s misbehaved, but it will inject a sedative if need be. It was designed with him in mind.”

“Does that make me special?” John asked, raising his brow. He expected his new master to tut disapprovingly, perhaps shock him as punishment for mouthing off to a dragon, even as one as low as the handler. What he did not expect was for him to laugh.

It was a low rumble, a sound full of mirth. Laughter wasn’t common in the facility, and even when heard, it was usually malicious. His new master’s laugh was…quite pleasant to the ear. Not that John would ever admit it, of course.

“Oh, John.” The curly haired dragon chuckled. “You are _perfection._ ”

Two guards came around the corner before John had the chance to respond, their guns trained on his heart. The handler sighed slightly, then nodded once at the elder dragon. “Alright, we’re ready to fill out paperwork for the human.”

“Are such drastic measures really so necessary?” His master asked petulantly as they began to walk. John considered not moving before deciding that being shocked for simply being stubborn wasn’t really worth it.

“Yes.” The handler replied warily, keeping an eye on John as if he might attack. John just rolled his eyes in response, choosing to glare ahead of him at the treatment.

The journey to the office was uneventful, and John was pleased to note that the guards had already lowered their defences. To try and escape now would be idiotic, but it was nice to know that if he behaved long enough, he could get away.

“Right. Well, we’ve got the paperwork for human #4721 right here. John Hamish Watson. Male. Age twenty five. Status: extremely dangerous.” The handler said, pulling out John’s file with a flourish. “Sign on the dotted line on page two please. And remember, there is no refunds on this human.”

“No refunds? Why ever not?” John heard the elder dragon say. He didn’t bother looking over at him, but instead focusing on the messy scrawl of his new master. _William Sherlock Scott Holmes._

“Oh, you can read?” the elder dragon said, and John’s new master turned to look at him with increased interest.

“That’s why.” The handler said in response to the elder dragon’s first question. “He knows too much, and is far too dangerous.”

John couldn’t help the smug smirk that crossed his face. Apparently the handler saw it, for a second later John was clinging to the wall to stay upright, electricity running along his muscles and bones.

“Bad boy!” The handler scolded, though there wasn’t much heat in the words. “You will respect your new master, Sherlock, do you understand me?”

“Perfectly.” John gritted out, glaring at the handler. The silver remote used to shock him glinted menacingly in the handler’s meaty paw, and John could see scales and claws beginning to form, out of fear rather than anything else.

“I do believe he’s mine now.” His master, Sherlock, said. His pale hand reached out to snatch the remote away, which was quickly deposited in his trouser pocket. “Thank you very much. I do believe John and I are going to take our leave now.”

“Oh Sherlock.” The elder dragon said, his voice singsonging mockingly. “I do believe you’re forgetting something.”

“Shut up, Mycroft.” Sherlock said, and John quickly added the strange name to his inventory. “You’re being particularly idiotic today.”

“I’m not the one forgetting my new human’s leash, am I?” Mycroft’s voice sounded smug, and John decided that he didn’t much like the elder dragon. His new master seemed to share his opinion, and with a snort of disgust, snatched the chain that would serve as John’s leash off the handler’s desk.

“You’re insufferable.” Sherlock sneered at his brother, clipping the leash onto John’s collar. “Come along, John. We have to stop at the morgue before we go home. I want to pick up a sampling of human toes.”

“Human-” John began before being choked by the metal collar digging to his neck as Sherlock walked away. He followed with an angry sound, silently plotting the best way to kill Sherlock and Mycroft.

After all, there was no way he could remain a slave forever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe the feedback on this story. I had posted this story in the middle of a terrible weekend. I had no wifi, I kept getting lost, and I was just really down. Right after the second time I got lost, I quick ran into a Caribou Coffee (which is kind of like Starbucks, but better) and posted it. It wasn't until the next afternoon when I managed to find a restaurant with wifi (in the midst of getting lost again) that I saw the wonderful feedback. You have no idea how much you brightened my entire month. Seriously, I love each and every one of you, and I desperately hope that the coming chapters are up to your desires.


	3. Chapter 3

“You could have been more polite to her.” John said as soon as they left the morgue, remembering the distraught look on the human female’s face when Sherlock had rudely shot down her offer for coffee.

He could see the surprise on Sherlock’s face at his words out of the corner of his eye. He had been silent ever since they had left the glorified prison where they had kept him, not speaking even when the sweet human, Molly, asked him his name.

“Why?” Sherlock asked, curiosity unmistakeable in his tone.

“Because she likes you.” John replied, rolling his eyes. “I know you lot don’t think much about most humans, but-”

“You thought I was rude because she was human?” Sherlock scoffed, “Don’t be ridiculous. I am rude to everyone. Molly Hooper, while admittedly more intelligent than most creatures, can still get annoying. She was attempting to ask me out on a date, and I rejected her in the swiftest manner possible.”

“By telling her that her mouth was too small without lipstick.” John looked over at Sherlock in disbelief, ready to tell him off before catching sight of his tail, horns, and claws. “Right…it’s none of my business, is it, Master?”

“Sherlock.” Sherlock responded with a smirk, clearly enjoying John’s annoyance. “Don’t start with that ‘Master’ nonsense. It’s really most unbecoming of you.”

John didn’t reply, trailing behind Sherlock as he planned his escape. Sherlock didn’t seem to be paying him too much attention, at least not as much as he expected. Then again, he expected to be trailed by gunmen, so anything less was a shock.

“Are you really that upset that I rejected Molly?” Sherlock asked after a moment of silence, London thrumming around them as they walked the crowded streets.

“Not really.” John sniffed. “I just don’t approve of dragon elitism.”

“It’s hardly elitism.” He could practically _hear_ the eye roll from Sherlock. “I would have done the same thing if it were a female dragon. Sentiment is foolish, and women are not my area.”

“They’re not- _oh!”_ John broke off, shaking his head. “Sorry, didn’t mean to assume...”

“It hardly matters.” Sherlock replied, leading John into the underground, masses of dragon’s with their human pets milling around them. “I don’t _do_ relationships.”

The pair made their way through the crowds, fighting to get on a crowded carriage. John found himself wedged between four other humans, and though Sherlock still held his leash, he could barely see the top of his curly hair.

 _‘Now is the time to escape’_ John thought, looking around quickly to make sure no one was watching him. A small smile flitted across his face when he confirmed the fact that his smaller than average size and seemingly normal appearance kept people from observing him.

John surreptitiously slid a hair grip from a nearby dragon’s hair, holding his breath until he was positive she had not noticed the missing hair-piece. He grinned as he fiddled with the hair grip, expertly unlocking the high-tech collar.

The metal pinched John’s skin as he slid the collar off, but he ignored the slight pain, latching the collar onto a nearby pole. Sherlock would notice his absence eventually, but hopefully not before John was far, far away.

He could feel the train beginning to slow down, and with one last glance at Sherlock, he began winding his way to the doors. They slid open immediately, and John quickly exited, walking quickly for the underground exit.

The sudden shift from dark to light made John’s head pound, and he ducked his head as he made his way down the street. He would never be mistaken for a dragon, but if he kept his head low enough, they would assume he was a slave going about his chores.

‘ _Idiots, the lot of them,’_ John thought savagely, the pounding in his head getting worse. _‘They think they’re so much better than us, that they can treat us like dirt! They need to know that we’re equal.’_

John continued walking along an unknown London street, his limbs feeling heavier by the second.  He ducked down an alley, trying to confuse anyone who would think to follow him. Not that anyone noticed him, but the less straightforward path he took, the better. He had almost made it out of the alley when his knees buckled, sending him toppling into the side of a skip.

“Ergh.” John groaned, turning so he could rest against the skip, trying desperately to keep his eyes open. “Christ…what is happening to me?”

“High-grade tranquilizer.” A startlingly familiar baritone said from about him, and John blinked blearily up at the shadowed figure. “I’m surprised that you made it so far, honestly. It took you about ten minutes to succumb. The average human barely lasts sixty seconds.”

“How-”

“Your collar.” The smirk was evident in Sherlock’s voice. “It w _as,_ after all, designed with you in mind. If you had bothered to read more than the beginning sentence of your licencing contract, you would have realised that should your collar be unlocked by any means other than the micro-chipped key I was given, an automatic sedative would be injected into your bloodstream.”

John groaned softly, remembering the pinch he felt as he removed the collar. “This was a test, wasn’t it? You were testing to see if I would escape?”

“Of course.” Sherlock replied, moving into John’s sight range. He could see several emotions playing over the dragon’s face. Amusement, surprise, and something similar to awe. “I wanted to see what you would do if given the ability to escape. If I had been a lesser dragon, you probably would have lost me.”

“You’re an arse.” John said weakly, trying to fight the fog that was taking over his mind. “A big, giant arse.”

“How poetic.” Sherlock said drily. “But I do believe you’re about to fall asleep. If you ever feel the urge to escape again, please try to take a more interesting path. I do like a challenge, you know.”

John decided he would feel angrier after he woke up. Right now, however, he was just too exhausted to feel anything other than sleepy. The fog quickly rushed in, and before the darkness of unconsciousness took him, he could briefly hear Sherlock whisper: “Oh, John. I have big plans for you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lookie lookie! An update!  
> I am so desperately sorry to keep you waiting, and I want to thank every commenter, kudoer, and whoever has read this story. You have no idea how absolutely wonderful you are. (Literally...I can't even spell I'm so thrilled. I just tried to spell absolutely "ablosultetly") I'm a lame-o that doesn't update a lot, apparently, so if you wanna complain at me, or you're just bored out of your mind and want to check out more blogs, you can find me on tumblr (same name, naturally.)  
> Sorry again, you gorgeous creatures!
> 
> Robottko


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On this day, August 31st, in 1990, a child by the name of Robottko was born. It was decreed that every year on her birthday, she shall update every fanfiction that is a WIP. So, it is with great honor that I present to you this update.

John’s head was pounding as he woke up, and he groaned, burying his face in his pillow as if it would lessen the pain. Something pressed at his throat, and he lifted his hand, tugging at the leather strapped there.

_‘A new collar,’_ John thought drily, blinking awake. ‘ _How wonderful.’_

The pounding continued, and he realised that it wasn’t all in his head. John huffed, flipping over and glaring at the door.

“You can come in.” He called, his voice rough from sleep. “I’m just a slave, anyways. I don’t get any privacy, do I?”

“Come now, John.” Sherlock entered, looking completely put together. “No need to be so dramatic. You have your own room, do you not?”

John looked around, realising that he was lying in a twin sized bed, the walls completely devoid of any decoration. It looked like a guest room more than anything.

“This is my room?” John asked, feeling surprised. From what he understood, most dragon’s kept their human slaves in their rooms. It made it easier to watch them, and they were always at the ready if their dragon needed something.

“Of course.” Sherlock said, looking rather proud of himself. “I won’t require you to be at my bedside. I rarely sleep as it is, and hovering can get annoying. Therefore, you have your own room.”

John smiled to himself, amazed that Sherlock could make even the nicest act seem selfish. He stretched, moving so that his feet could touch the cool floor.

“Right, so what do you need, then?”

“There has been a murder, and I require your assistance.” Sherlock looked positively gleeful.

“And why would you need _my_ assistance?”

“Because you were a doctor as well as a solider.” Sherlock said in a clipped tone. “And half the dragons at the Yard are complete idiots. Are you coming or not?”

“Yes, fine.” John said, pretending that he wasn’t looking forward to this outing. Escape was out of the question, of course, but fresh air would do him good.

Sherlock beamed at him, then turned around, leaving the room. John pulled on some jeans and a jumper, pleased that his headache was going away.

“So, planning on drugging me again?” John asked as soon as he saw Sherlock, heading down the stairs. There was a door behind the dragon that was open, and John got a quick glimpse into a sitting room with busy wallpaper and a skull on the mantelpiece before Sherlock lead him down another flight of stairs.

“That was your fault. You were informed that there was a sedative in the collar when we were at the human corrections facility.”

“You mean my prison?” John snorted in disbelief, stumbling slightly on the unfamiliar step outside. “Ta, I was busy trying to find an escape.”

“That would have been reckless and foolhardy.” Sherlock replied, red tail swinging in agitation.

“That’s my style.” John grinned. “And they never said it would automatically inject sedative into my neck if I picked the lock.”

“Why should they have? It’s common sense.” Sherlock replied. “They knew you would attempt it, and so they put it in as a precaution.

“And why would they do that?” John asked innocently.

“Don’t play coy, John Watson. I looked you up while you were unconscious.” Sherlock flagged down a cab, ushering John in before sitting down himself, his tail curling slightly at his feet. “You are a dangerous man.”

Thank god Sherlock had the sense to lower his voice, or the cabbie would have overheard them. John sucked in a breath, looking over at Sherlock.

“Was a dangerous man.” He corrected. “Ever since I was injured, I’ve been pretty useless.”

“Doubtful.” Sherlock hummed. “You managed to kill a guard in the human corrections facility, even as your bite mark was still bleeding.”

“How did you…oh, right. I’m sure it was on the paperwork.” John reached up, touching his shoulder where a bite from a fully transformed dragon had marred the skin.

“No, they left that out. It’s obvious if you know what to look for.” Sherlock replied easily. “But that’s only one of your many admirable qualities. Is it true that you killed a fully transformed dragon with your bare hands?”

John rolled his eyes, looking down at his hands. “I’m not proud of their deaths, if that’s what you’re alluding to. But that dragon had just killed my best friend, Bill Murray, and I was so _angry_ that I just…I felt rotten afterward.”

“So it is true.” Sherlock hummed. “I assumed it was just over dramatization.  You also saved dragons, did you not?”

“They mentioned that in the report?” John muttered.

Sherlock was silent for a moment. “No, merely an observation by myself. Of course you did. You’re primarily a doctor, and you have a high sense of morals.”

“I don’t kill just for the sake of killing.” John said. “I regret the deaths of those dragons that I killed. I don’t like what I did.”

Sherlock studied him, not saying anything, and John took that as his cue to stop talking. He sighed, slumping down into his seat as he turned towards the window, watching London pass by. It wasn’t long until they arrived at the crime scene, Sherlock getting out of the cab with a dramatic swirl of his coat and tail. John followed him, absently noting that he wasn’t wearing a leash. It would be pointless to try and escape, of course, as surrounded as he was, but it was surprising. It hadn’t been even twenty four hours since he made his last attempt at escaping.

“Sherlock, thank god you’re here,” A voice startled John, and he looked up to see a silver haired human standing near a group of police dragons. John gaped for a second, realising that the silver haired human was _in charge._

“I know, you can’t possibly manage without me, Lestrade. Unfortunately, I’m a busy dragon.” Sherlock said, sounding smug.

“Yes well…” The man named Lestrade paused when he saw John, surprise crossing over his face. “You’re _John Watson!”_

The police dragons, who had all been chatting amongst themselves, whipped around at John’s name, their eyes wide.

“I…yes.” John said slowly, watching scales begin to spread over some of the dragons’ skins. A few even transformed into their dragon form, growling deeply.

“Calm down, he’s here to assist me.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, marching over to the body on the ground. John followed him, smirking when a few of the dragon’s backed away.

“He’s been collard.” A pretty black police dragon said, her purple scales shimmering. “He’s a slave…he’s _Sherlock’s_ slave. Why don’t you have him on a leash?!”

“Calm down, Donovan.” Sherlock sighed. “He’s no threat to you. Like I said, he’s here to assist me. Come here, John.”

John glared at Donovan, sidling up to Sherlock’s side. The body lying next to them was that of a human slave. The body was heavily bruised, and it was obvious that some bruises were fresher than others.

“What do you see?” Sherlock asked John, and John gave him a surprised glance before replying

“There are multiple bruises, some are healing, and others are fresh. This person has been subjected to this kind of treatment before.” John replied, “Not surprising, seeing as they’re a human slave.”

Sherlock hummed noncommittally, staring at the body for a few more seconds before standing upright. “The slave’s master killed them. He is a routine abuser, and will most likely kill his other slaves if not arrested.”

“But he’s a dragon.” John said, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. “Aren’t you going to sweep this under the rug? Protect the dragon?”

“Hell no.” Lestrade shook his head. “Human deaths are never acceptable.”

“No, they aren’t.” Sherlock agreed. “Perhaps they might have been at one point, but it’s ridiculous to view human deaths as lesser than a dragon’s death.”

John stared at Sherlock in disbelief, something he was afraid he was going to do quite often. “I’ve never seen a dragon that pays attention to human life.”

Sherlock looked away, and John grinned when he caught the barest flicker of pride on his face. Sherlock Holmes might be a dragon, but apparently they weren’t all bad.

 

* * *

 

 

In another part of London, another dragon watched the CCTV with narrowed eyes, focusing on the little blond slave at Sherlock Holmes’ side.

“He’s never taken a pet before.” The dragon hissed with interest. “And a terrorist as well, how sweet.”

“Do you want me to eliminate the pet, boss?” A tall, blond human asked from behind him.

“Not at all. Maybe we can get Sherlock to eliminate the human himself.” The dragon smirked, turning off the screen. “That is what we do best, after all. Convince them that human life is detrimental to their wellbeing. They all believe it, in the end.”

“You think he’ll fall for that?”

“Of course I do.” The dragon smirked. “He’s yet to meet me, you know, but he already knows my name. In fact, I think he’ll forget all about his little pet when he discovers I’m Moriarty. Then we can crush the humanity out of him.”


	5. Chapter 5

 The cab ride back to 221b was uneventful, and John couldn't help but become introspective, musing over the last few hours as he fiddled with his surprisingly comfortable collar. It was hard to believe that he had only met Sherlock Holmes around twenty four hours ago. The dragon certainly seemed to be living an exciting life, and if John was being honest with himself, he might have admitted he was enjoying it immensely. 

"We're here, John," Sherlock said, pulling him from his thoughts. 

John blinked over at Sherlock, who had already gotten out of the car and was now looking back at him with an amused expression. 

He climbed out of the car stretching stiffly as he stopped at Sherlock's side. Sherlock wasn't paying him any attention, however. He glared at the door, and John stared as well trying to figure out what was bothering the dragon.

"We have a visitor," Sherlock announced before striding towards the door, John following helplessly behind him. 

They made their way up the seventeen steps quickly, and Sherlock quickly revealed their visitor, pushing open the lounge door to see a man in a Westwood suit, sitting in Sherlock's armchair and looking as if he owned the place.

"Sherlock Holmes!" The man sang, extending his arms as if greeting an old friend. "How marvellous it is to finally meet you."

"I wish I could say the same to you," Sherlock drawled, looking bored.

"Oh, how silly of me." The man said, lowering his arms. "Jim Moriarty. Hi!"

"Moriarty," Recognition flickered in Sherlock's eyes. "You're the dragon that's advocating for the immediate euthanization of humans."

A knot of anger twisted in John's stomach at Sherlock's words, his spine stiffening as if preparing for a fight.

"You  _have_  heard of me!" Jim sounded pleased. "Oh, good. I suppose you can imagine my disappointment when I learned that you had obtained a...pet." 

Moriarty threw a scathing look at John, who returned the sentiment with equal fervour 

"Why would you care if I got a human?" Sherlock asked with a rolled of his eyes. "All dragons have humans."

"Oh Sherlock," Moriarty sounded disappointed. "Humans make you weak. I thought you of all people realised that."

"Ah...” Sherlock said, understanding lighting up his face. "You thought I would join your cause."

"You can still." Moriarty grinned, standing up at last, walking towards them. He stopped next to John, surveying him coldly. "I'll grant you, your human is pretty. Such a backstory too, a soldier, a rebel. But he's nothing more than a dull human."

Moriarty ran a hand through his hair, gripping the strands as John tried to pull away.

" _Don't touch him,_ " Sherlock hissed, red tail lashing in irritation. 

"Oho!" Moriarty looked delighted, releasing John immediately, several strands of John's hair ripping out at the rough treatment. "You've grown fond of your little pet."

"This conversation is growing to be pedantic," Sherlock replied coldly. "Get out of my flat."

"Wrong answer."

John noticed the faint glow in Moriarty's throat, realizing immediately what the dragon was about to do. He reacted instinctually, knocking Sherlock out of the path of white-hot flames, his hair getting singed as they both fell to the floor.

"You've rather shown your hand there, little human," Moriarty chuckled as John flipped over to glare at him, blocking Sherlock from Moriarty's line of sight with his body. "As adorable as this is, I have to be going. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."

The door shut silently behind Moriarty, and only when John heard the soft footsteps reach the bottom of the landing did he relax. 

"Are you alright?" A deep voiced behind John asked, and he turned to look at Sherlock, who was still sprawled across the floor.

"Me?" John asked in confusion.

"He  _did_  burn you," Sherlock pointed out, standing up and brushing himself off.

"Oh," John reached up, touching the singed ends of his hair. "Well, I've had worse."

"Thank you," Sherlock blurted out rather suddenly.

"What for?" John frowned. 

"That thing you did back there. That was...good."

"Oh." John shuffled, scuffing his shoe against the ground. "That was nothing."

"You saved me from a nasty burn." Sherlock stated.

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't wish a burn like that on anyone," John huffed. "It's not like we're friends now or anything."

"No, of course not," Sherlock replied, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smirk. 

John opened his mouth to tell Sherlock off, but he was interrupted by a low buzzing sound. Sherlock's hand lifted, stopping anything John was going to say in its tracks.

"Lestrade." Sherlock answered. "Yes, of course. I'll be there shortly."

He hung up without as much as a goodbye, his eyes glittering. "There's been a murder."

John knew that he should be concerned that Sherlock could say those words with that much joy, but the excitement that began to well up in his own stomach shut him right up. 

"Oh?" John tried for nonchalant.

"You're a soldier." Sherlock grinned down at him. "Practically a doctor, with what you've gone through."

"I believe your kind thinks of me as a terrorist." John replied. "But yes."

"Any good?"

"Very good."

"Seen a lot of violence?" Sherlock asked, looking innocent. "A lot of deaths?"

"Yes, far too many." John agreed.

Sherlock smirked at that. "Want to see some more?"

"Oh god, yes."

The game was on.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to. You would cry too if you _forgot to update your fics for two freaking years..._

John Watson had been living with Sherlock Holmes for five months, and he had never been happier. Not that he would admit it, of course, nor did that mean he no longer wanted his freedom.

Sherlock had become a fast friend, and he treated John like an equal, which was rare. Even the dragons at the Yard had begun to relax around him, joking around with him while Sherlock was busy, much to Sherlock's annoyance.

Yes, John Watson was happy, and of course, it could never last.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock had gotten the call in the early hours of a Thursday morning. One of Mycroft's human slaves had been killed in the middle of the night, right under Mycroft's nose.

At first, Sherlock refused to take the case to spite his brother, but his curiosity won out in the end. How was it possible that someone managed to kill a human right under Mycroft's nose?

So that's how John Watson found himself standing in the middle of a mansion at four o'clock in the morning, wearing last night's jumper and a pair of pyjama bottoms. 

"The very least you could do is get me a coffee," John groused as Sherlock flitted around the dead human. "Something to wake me up. Just because you live off pure adrenaline, doesn't mean we all do."

"Once we're done, I'll have Mrs Hudson cook you a big breakfast," Sherlock muttered distractedly, "Now, quiet."

John snorted as he rubbed at the collar around his neck. He never wore it at home, and the only time he put it on was when he was going to be spending a large amount of time in public.

"This doesn't make sense," Sherlock growled, scales forming on his neck in annoyance. "No human would be able to do this."

"Sorry, what?" John asked. "Who said anything about a human?"

"I did," Sherlock grumbled. "The servant died of gunshot wound. Very few dragons will use a gun, as it's a human weapon."

"What if they used a gun to make it look like a human had done it?" John asked, moving closer to the body.

"That's what I had suspected," Sherlock replied, "but the finger prints on the gun we found were human sized. Even when a dragon is in their humanoid form, their fingerprints are much larger. They're running the prints now to see if there are any matches in the system."

"Okay, so it was a human," John shrugged, "why is that so impossible?"

"Can you imagine any human being able to sneak into Mycroft’s home and kill one of his slaves without alerting him?" Sherlock asked.

"I can think of one," A dragon by the name of Phillip Anderson said, his yellow scales forming to protect his weak points. "Your pet made a habit of killing people sneakily."

"Excuse me?" John whirled around to glare at Anderson.

"John killed  _dragons_ as a form of self-defence, not humans." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Your stupidity is astounding today."

"And I'm not a pet!" John snapped.

"You're wearing a collar, aren't you?" Anderson said with a smirk, though any bravado was lost in the rapid creeping of his scales.

Before John could contemplate the pros and cons of pummelling the shite out of Anderson, Lestrade came into the room. 

"Sherlock, John, I need to talk to you both. Now." Lestrade sounded sharper than normal, and he looked exhausted.

They followed Lestrade out of the room and down the hall, compensating so none of the dragons on the force could overhear. When they got a suitable distance away, Lestrade whirled around, fixing John with a stare.

"I need you to be one hundred percent honest with me John," He said, "Did you kill that human?"

"What?!" John took a step back as if he had been slapped. "Greg, why would I kill a human?"

"That's not answering my question," Lestrade sighed.

"No, I didn't!" John replied angrily. "Why would you ask something so stupid?"

"Because the evidence is adding up against you," Lestrade said, pulling out a familiar Sig Sauer P226R. John's breath caught in his throat as he looked down at the gun, trying not to remember the last time he had held it.

"That's my gun," John said softly, "I haven't seen it in nearly a year. Where did you get it?"

"It's got your fingerprints all over it," Lestrade said, as if he hadn't heard John.

"Of course it does, it's my gun!" John repeated.

"And it was found at the scene of the crime," Lestrade continued. "The bullet that killed Mycroft's slave came from this gun."

"I didn't do it," John shook his head, "I haven't even touched that gun since I was captured. Someone is trying to frame me!"

"We also found human hair at the crime scene," Lestrade said. "Did you know that you're top priority on IDENT1? We ran the prints and hair, and your profile popped up a minute later. I've never seen it work that fast."

"The gunshot wound was approximately the height of a shooter of 5 foot 6 inches." Sherlock said, breaking his silence. 

"You don't believe this, do you?" John asked, horrified. "Sherlock...motives. What motives do I have?"

"There aren't any," Sherlock agreed, "Lestrade..."

"I don't believe you would do it either," Lestrade shook his head, "But with the overwhelming evidence already against you, I have to take you in."

"No," John backed away, the glint of handcuffs sending a sharp stab of panic through him. "I didn't do anything."

"John," Sherlock's voice is a balm, and John relaxes minutely. "Don't worry, I'll get you out of this. Just trust me."

John nodded, flinching as the handcuffs were clamped on his wrist.

"You do not have to say anything," Lestrade said, echoing the police caution hollowly, "but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://robottko.tumblr.com/) for more ficlets, funny cats, and to appease the internet overlords


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